Den of Mercenaries [Volume Two]

by London Miller

  “Hey there, dove,” he greeted her, waiting for the inevitable flinch as she looked up from the floor to him.

  He was used to the fear in people’s eyes when they looked at him—it was well earned even if he didn’t always enjoy it—but she looked at everyone with fear, worried that a hand or a fist or an unwanted touch would come after the greeting, so he didn’t take it personally. She also did her best to hide her reaction when it came from him.

  The only person she didn’t get skittish around was Bear.

  Funny, considering he was one of the meanest bastards in this place.

  “Hi, Syn,” she returned, voice barely above a whisper.

  “Stop talking to the help,” a voice called, causing Wren to jolt and quickly scurry away.

  Rosalie’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to his pounding head because she insisted on being an absolute cunt to any and everyone so long as she was in the mood.

  She was a decent lay, no doubt about that, but that didn’t make up for the rest of her.

  “Then why are you talking to me?” Synek asked, moving past her and completely unbothered by the pouty frown on her face.

  She always got that look when he wouldn’t entertain her shit—like a child throwing a tantrum when someone took her favorite toy away. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d given in to that.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, puppy. I thought we had a good time last night.”

  “You taking the piss? Even with my dick in your mouth, I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it more than I did.”

  She laughed as if he’d made a joke, though he was deadly serious. It didn’t matter what he said to her—how cruel or degrading—she ate that shit up and came back for more. But then again, she didn’t care what he said to her so long as he answered when she called for him.

  As Synek passed through the double doors that led into the oversized meeting room where Johnny held his meetings, his gaze was drawn to the large ornate table in the very center, as it always was when he walked in here.

  The Wraiths’ logo had been carefully carved into the ebony table, polished to a shine, then blue epoxy used to set the table, giving it an otherworldly appearance. It was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

  Today, it was the only thing in the room.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I needed you here,” Rosalie explained as she sank into one of the chairs. “You move a little faster when Johnny’s the one calling.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Synek turned to the door with every intention to leave, but she held her hand up.

  “Still his orders, but I thought you’d like a friendlier face for what he’s going to ask you to do.”

  “What’s the job?”

  Her smile told him he wasn’t going to like her answer.

  * * *

  He needed a drink as badly as he needed to get the fuck away from everything. Maybe it was the thought of what he had to do tonight that had him on edge as he rode in the passenger seat of the truck, his hands tucked in his pockets.

  You can do it for me, Rosalie had said with a curling smile. Just imagine how I’ll reward you later.

  The thought made his stomach turn.

  “Remember the plan,” Digger, one of the Wraiths Synek hated the most, ordered before he stepped out of the truck and the rest of them followed.

  Synek found a vacant seat at a table toward the back of the bar they’d driven to, one that wasn’t too crowded where he could think. What he needed was a drink, something to calm the roaring in his ears because the more he sat lost in his own thoughts, the more restless he became.

  His options were limited, and disobeying an order that had come from Johnny was as good as death.

  “I can’t kill a kid,” he muttered to himself, mindful of the glances shot in his direction, but he paid them no mind.

  For some, the line didn’t exist, but for others, it was a blur.

  For Synek? The line was straight and clear between what he was willing to darken his soul for and what he wasn’t.

  Right at the top of the latter’s list was the innocent.

  Not the ones who thought their hands were clean simply because they gave an order and didn’t lift a finger themselves—no, he meant the ones who hadn’t asked for their fate. The ones who’d been as much of a victim as anyone else.

  Synek knew what that was like, and he didn’t want anyone else to feel the kind of pain by his hand if he could help it.

  What the fuck could a child have done anyway?

  “It’s a fucking kid,” he whispered again, finishing the thought aloud.

  “Hey, mister? Are you crazy?”

  The question came from beneath him to his left, and he didn’t have to guess the culprit when he caught sight of a tiny thing with brown hair beneath a table, a hand slapped over her mouth as if she could take the words back.

  Curious, Synek tilted his head as he studied her, wondering why the hell someone her age was in a bar, then smiled as he realized just what she’d asked him.

  “Jury’s still out on that one, love. What’s a little thing like you doing in here?” he asked.

  She should have been afraid of him, or at the very least, cautious of talking to a stranger, but she seemed to take his question as an invitation as she crawled out from under the table. “I’m making sure my uncle stays out of trouble,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulder.

  Synek rested his elbows on the table, realizing who she was and hating the fact that he did. “This ain’t a place for you, though, is it?”

  She shrugged again, not seeming to understand the importance of what he was asking. “If you want to order something, you’ll have to go to the bar, you know.”

  He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that the two he’d come with were already occupying enough seats without him needing to be up there. Besides, he doubted any of them were paying attention to what was happening with him now.

  “Are you waiting for your friends?” the girl asked, drawing his attention back to her.

  “Can’t say I have any of those, little miss.”

  She looked pleased by the nickname. “Not even the ones you came with?”

  He shrugged.

  He couldn’t even consider them associates.

  “Everyone needs a friend,” she continued, pausing a beat before adding, “I could totally be your friend.”

  Synek couldn’t think of a single instance in his life where anyone, his family included, had ever wanted to be his friend. He’d found a mutual ground with Bear, and it had grown from there, but they hadn’t started off even liking each other.

  She’d been in his presence for less than ten minutes, and already, she’d talked to him as if he were somebody worth knowing.

  “I’m Winter, just so you know,” she said, sticking her hand out.

  His smile tipped up at one corner of his mouth as he inclined his head. “Syn.”

  “Wicked.”

  He felt lighter at that moment, seeing her genuine happiness, even as he was a bit surprised that he could make someone feel something other than fear, hatred, or lust.

  It only reaffirmed that he wouldn’t be able to do what they’d called him here to do.

  “Friends forgive friends, no?” he asked, wanting her forgiveness for the events he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  She frowned as she looked at him, her child-like face scrunched up in faux understanding. “Of course.”

  But she didn’t know what he was really asking. Not really.

  Synek fell silent as he glanced over at the clock, watching the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. Winter didn’t seem to mind it, though, as she prattled on beside him with a pencil in her hand, doodling in her book.

  But as the pub started emptying all around them, he couldn’t feign nonchalance anymore. He sat up a little straighter.

  As the clock struck 11:14 on the dot, he glanced over at her and plucked the extra pencil she had tucked b
ehind her ear. “Could I borrow this, luv?” he asked, if only to be polite. His attention was on the other side of the bar.

  Digger stood on the other side of the bar, his attention coming to him for a moment as he waited. It was Synek’s job, after all. He was supposed to be the one delivering the message and seeing this done, but Digger had always been an overeager little shit and would gladly dish out pain if he was able.

  The sound of Winter’s chair moving had him reaching for her without looking back, his hand resting on top of her hair to keep her in place. She didn’t resist.

  “Erilio wants his money,” Digger announced once he had the bartender attention, who was Winter’s uncle.

  The man’s gaze darted in their direction, his face paling when he realized Synek was already standing near her. What he didn’t know was that he didn’t mean her any harm.

  They were friends, after all.

  “I’ve got most of it,” the man said. “Just give me a little time, and I’ll get you the rest.”

  Digger frowned. “Yeah, see, that’s not how this works.”

  When Digger pulled out his gun, Synek frowned, even as he stood, angling his body just so to keep Winter out of view for a little while longer.

  “That’s not the job,” he said, his voice tight. “Take the bag and let’s get moving, Digger.”

  The man didn’t heed the threat in Synek’s voice. He merely shook his head as if he was disappointed. “You’ve gotten soft.”

  If his idea was to bait him into a fight, it wasn’t working. “Finish the job.”

  Digger laughed, turning to better face him. “And if I don’t?”

  The man they’d come for looked back and forth between the pair of them, seeming to notice the rising tension. “Three days, that’s all I need. I’ll have his money, I swear it.”

  “Good,” Digger said, moving to pick up the bag the man had set on the bar. “But that won’t help you now.”

  Synek didn’t even have the chance to cover the girl’s eyes before Digger was firing, sending a bullet ripping through the chamber of his gun and plugging the man’s forehead before shattering the glass behind him.

  The sound of Winter’s screams made Synek flinch. Like his chest was on fire and his lungs didn’t know how to properly work.

  He recognized those screams of anguish—of a pain so profound that the only way to feel any relief at all was to purge it.

  He’d screamed like that for years.

  “Take care of the girl,” Digger said, reminding him what the original job had been.

  This had been the man’s second strike, and since the first obviously hadn’t taught him, Johnny had thought the best way for him to learn was through his kid.

  For money.

  He was expected to take a child’s life because of money.

  Synek didn’t budge from where he stood. “Not going to happen.”

  “She’s seen our faces. You know the rules,” Mario said dispassionately as he glanced over the bar at the dead man slumped on the ground.

  “Fine,” Digger said before Synek could formulate a response. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

  It.

  As if she wasn’t a human being.

  As if she was nothing.

  Synek didn’t think—he reacted.

  The second Digger was within reaching distance, he yanked the man forward by the back of his neck and thrust the pencil into his neck. Fire roared to life inside his skin as he yanked it free and watched the man drop.

  He’d bleed out in seconds.

  Swiping his hand over his face where blood had sprayed from the wound in Digger’s neck, Synek didn’t hesitate to move forward for the other two.

  He lost himself somewhere in the middle—his thoughts growing blissfully blank—and only once there was no one left standing in the bar did Synek finally come back to himself, blinking back the bloodlust.

  Winter was sniffling on the other side of the room, and the sight of those tears wounded him. “Hey there, don’t cry,” he whispered, brushing her tears away, oblivious to the bloody streaks he was leaving on her face. “I’m not good with tears.”

  It came to him then, that he might have been a killer and probably deserved the torment he suffered day in and day out, but he didn’t have to be that for the Wraiths.

  And after tonight, there was no going back to what he knew.

  Not anymore.

  It was time to take the Kingmaker up on his offer.

  Chapter 10

  Iris hadn’t known what to expect when Winter told her the story of how she and Synek met—maybe some sob story about what a great guy he was despite the killer he had been—but she had never expected that.

  He might have done exactly what Rosalie accused him of—attacking his own brothers—but it hadn’t been without good reason.

  A reason even Iris would be willing to kill for.

  Synek was supposed to be some sort of monster—ready to rob a child of her only family. Yet he hadn’t. No matter how Rosalie had tried to turn him into that very thing, he had sacrificed for someone even to his own detriment.

  And the idea that Rosalie had tried to turn herself into the girl in front of her only made her obsession with him that much crazier.

  No wonder she had always been careful never to go after Synek herself and sent others. Iris could only imagine what he would have done to her if she had—especially looking the way she did.

  “If I could help you …” Iris started without even giving herself a chance to think about what the outcome could mean for her. “I would, but I couldn’t get you in even if I wanted to.”

  She didn’t have that sort of clearance. Even if she had been one of Rosalie’s favorite contractors and worked with her specifically, Iris still wasn’t officially a Wraith. If she tried to bring someone in, they would never be able to get close to Synek.

  Rosalie wouldn’t let that happen.

  “We don’t need you to get us inside,” the one with the X tattooed on his neck said, tapping his thumb against his thigh in a cadence only he knew. “We can handle that on our own.”

  Iris couldn’t help but laugh disbelievingly. “The Wraith Compound is on lockdown. There’s no way you’re getting in. Consider that place Fort Knox.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” the blond one said. “We rob banks for a living.”

  With the expression on his face, she couldn’t be sure whether this was a joke or not.

  “The only thing we need from you is a location,” Winter said, reclaiming her attention. “We’ve got the rest.”

  As her thoughts turned over, Iris knew she should get involved, that it would be better for her to just give them an approximate location and wish them luck. But knowing the fool Rosalie had made of her, she didn’t. “And the information you promised?”

  “You’ll get it as soon as he’s free.”

  There was a chance she was lying—that she wouldn’t send her anything once they got what they wanted—but Iris didn’t have much of a choice.

  What she had to do was too important.

  * * *

  If Iris had ever been inclined to smoke, this would be the moment she would.

  She’d hardly slept at all the night before after she had sent the text to Winter with the address once she was home. She had been sure they would want to keep an eye on her, or at least ensure that she would do what Winter asked.

  But no one had stuck around after they dropped her at her apartment.

  Then again, she doubted it would be much trouble for them to come after her again, and next time, she doubted they would be as friendly.

  As she’d gotten dressed, Iris thought about the years she’d spent with the Wraiths, and how she had desperately tried to find a family where there wasn’t one. She’d been so blinded that she hadn’t been able to see the cracks in the veneer until she was too far gone.

  The line of morality she always saw in the back of her mind had grown grayer by the day until now, it was
merely a shadow.

  Helping Synek escape wouldn’t atone for everything she had ever done in the Wraiths’ name, but at least he would be one less.

  “What’s got you in a mood?”

  Iris blinked up at Bear, surprised to find him in the hallway off the side of the bar. Today was his day off—the one day of the week when he didn’t come in. And when he wasn’t around, Wren made herself more scarce than usual. She’d been counting on that.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His brow crept up as he came closer. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

  “You on coke? Why are you so twitchy?”

  Was she that obvious?

  If he noticed it, others might as well, and she couldn’t afford anyone to suspect something was wrong—not with what was at stake.

  But as three other Wraiths she didn’t recognize walked past them down toward the room where Synek was being held, she forgot all about that.

  “What’s happening?” Iris asked.

  Bear looked after them, his expression unreadable. “Johnny gave the order.”

  Judging from the expression on his face, she could guess what that order was. Synek’s death.

  Shit.

  “That can’t happen,” Iris whispered without thinking.

  He glanced down at her, asking, “Why not?”

  “He was your friend, wasn’t he?” Iris asked. “Why aren’t you doing more to help him?”

  She suddenly understood why they called him Bear when he merely took a step forward and it felt as if he was looming over her, annoyance pulsing out of him. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  It seemed Bear had a plan of his own, and if he did, maybe she could get his help. “Do you know who he works for?”

  “What does that matter? Far as I know, he’s freelance.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Kingmaker?”

  He had. It was written all over his face.

  Now, she had his attention. “Bullshit.”

  “He’s one of the Kingmaker’s mercenaries.” The words might have meant nothing to her when Winter had first shared them, but it had the right effect on Bear.